


The Inequity of Lingerie

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Couch Sex, F/M, Lace Panties, Lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: A very early or very late birthday present that doesn't involve a batting cage.





	The Inequity of Lingerie

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: revivalish  
> A/N: Because kateyes224 wanted something fun. <3  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

“Mulder?” Paper crackles. “What’s this?”

He turns to see Scully holding a discreet bag labeled Coup de Foudre in gold script. Tissue paper glints as it fountains over the edge.

“Ah,” he says. “Well, based on your point of view, a very early or a very late birthday present.”

“It doesn’t feel like a baseball,” she says.

“I would never give the same gift twice,” he says, pretending outrage. “You’re lucky if you get one.”

“Can I open it?” she asks.

“Sure,” he says. “I bought it years ago, so I don’t know if it’s, ah, applicable anymore. But you can open it.”

She pulls out the paper and unfolds it delicately. Surgeon’s hands, he thinks, precise and steady. The look on her face as she pulls the bits of lace from the tissue is priceless. The lingerie dangles from her fingers: a camisole with shaped cups and a matching brief that laces up the back. They leave a lot to the imagination, but only when she’s just holding them. At least, he’s imagining a lot.

“Mulder,” she says and pauses. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’ll try it on,” he teases. “Black lace never goes out of style, right?”

“So they say,” she says dubiously.

“My birthday present?” he says plaintively.

“It’s not your birthday either,” she says. “But I suppose it’s close enough.”

“Really?” he asks, arousal pinging through him like sonar.

She retreats into the den, smiling, and emerges again looking like a very professional vampire queen. It’s very, very good. He beckons her forward and she sashays over. She left her heels on. He doesn’t deserve her.

“Still fits,” she says smugly, running her hands over her breasts and down her sides. She smirks as she watches him watch her.

“Get over here, Scully,” he says and pulls her down onto his lap.

She leans down, her hair spilling over her face, and smiles against his lips. "Mulder, have you ever considered the inequity of lingerie?“

"The inequity of lingerie?” he repeats, dazed by the warmth of her on his lap. 

“Surely you’ve thought about it,” she murmurs. "I’m nearly nude.“

"I have thought about that,” he admits. 

She leans back on his lap, one hand clutching his shoulder for support, the other cupping her breasts. "This lace leaves nothing to the imagination.“

"You’re right.” He ogles. There’s no other word for it. What else could he do? She’s squirming gently, straddling his thighs, wearing nothing but the almost-nothing he bought for her. She leans forward again and he admires the view, his eyes slaloming down her collarbones through the valley of her cleavage. Scully is a black diamond run: difficult to master, but worth every tumble. 

“So where’s your lingerie?” she murmurs, her lips brushing his ear, the edges of her teeth grazing the lobe for just a moment. "Metaphorically speaking.“

"Uhhh,” he says, his brain briefly shorting out as it tries to solve the puzzle of how he would squeeze himself into anything like what Scully is wearing. "Boxer briefs?“

"That does sound appealing,” Scully says, “but is it the equivalent of lingerie?” 

“I’m not the math geek here,” he grumbles. 

“I want to watch you take your clothes off,” she tells him, and his brain shorts out again. "I want to look at you the way you’re looking at me.“

"Wow,” he says. "Yes.“

She slides off his lap with more friction than is strictly necessary and sits on the couch with her feet tucked under her. Her heels are jumbled on the floor, which is still hot. He wants to kneel in front of her, press her knees apart, and rub his face all over the lace between her legs until she’s gasping with need, but that isn’t what she asked him for, so instead, he slowly unknots his tie. He lets the silk slide between his fingers, keeping the tension as the silk whispers against itself; it isn’t unlike the feeling of Scully’s skin against his, that same snag of like against like. Her mouth curves as she watches him, smug and lascivious. He bunches the tie in one hand and then releases it, letting it slither through his fingers to pile on the floor. She raises an eyebrow. He undoes his shirt buttons slowly, waiting for each one to pop through its hole, prolonging the moment before its release. She eats him up with her eyes, devouring each new exposed span of skin until he’s flushed just from the heat of her stare. 

"Keep going, FBI man,” she murmurs. She crosses her arms under her breasts, her thumb rising to caress the curve and flick past her nipple. He can see the way they stand out through the lace. What would it feel like to fuck her cleavage, his dick sliding between her breasts as she pushed them together, the lace brushing his tender skin? What would it look as he came on her chest, semen beading pearly white against the black?

He lets his shirt fall open. She hums appreciatively. Slowly he undoes the buttons of his cuffs and shrugs the shirt off. He’s a lot thicker than he used to be. From the look on Scully’s face, he’s still Grade-A American beef. 

He unbuckles his belt. First he tugs the end of the strap from the loop that secures it, the leather flexing stoutly against his hand. It resists deliciously as it bends. He draws it back, pulling the belt taut around his waist, even tighter than necessary, so that the metal prong slips from the hole with an almost audible pop and clinks against the buckle. He lets the end drop and grasps the buckle in one fist, drawing the belt out from its loops, the leather slick against the wool of his trousers. He drops the belt on top of the tie. Scully licks her lips. 

He toes off his shoes and socks, kicking them behind him. He doesn’t want to ruin this striptease by ending up snarled in his own trousers. Scully settles deeper into the cushions of the couch. She has one hand curled between her breasts now, resting on her sternum, and one on her thigh. He wonders if she’ll start touching herself. He wonders how long he can hold out if she does.

“Put the shirt back on,” she says in a husky voice. "Leave it open.“

"Your wish is my command,” he tells her, picking the shirt up and slipping it on.

Her eyes are so deep he could drown in them. She looks him over. "How many do I get?“

"As many as you need,” he promises. He reaches for the button of his trousers, pinches the material between his fingers and thumb, and lets the button slip through its hole. The zipper is next. He takes the tab and eases it down inch by inch. Scully bites her lip. The hand that’s on her thigh strays higher. He pushes his pants off his hips and they crumple to the floor. Slowly, he steps out of them and stands in front of her in his boxer briefs and his open shirt. 

“I know it’s not lingerie,” he says.

“It’s acceptable,” she says, a hitch in her voice. Her hand slips higher. Her fingers drift between her thighs. 

“Acceptable?” He lets a touch of outrage color his voice. He shakes his hips and does a little dance. 

“More than acceptable,” she amends. 

“Lingerie equivalent?” he asks.

“Almost,” she says. Her fingers move further. He groans as he watches her.

“I want to take all that stuff off you with my teeth,” he says in a low voice.

“We should have started fucking so much sooner,” she says, shaking her head slowly from side to side, but she’s smiling. "Think of how limber we were back then.“ 

"We make it work,” he says.

“We do,” she says. "I thought you were dancing.“

He shimmies slowly from side to side as she shifts on the couch until her knees fall apart. She strokes herself exactly where he wants to touch her. He watches her lips part. He’s hard as hell, resisting the urge to take himself in hand. 

"It feels good,” she tells him, letting her head fall back on the couch cushions. "The friction. It feels different.“

"That’s my scientist.” He throws in some groovy moves that he knows look more goofy than suave. Anything to keep his hands off himself. She’ll tell him when she’s ready.

Her thumb stays on top of the lace, but her fingers slip underneath it, and she moans quietly as she pushes into herself. 

“Is this what you thought about when you bought it?” Scully asks. Her cheeks are flushed. 

“Close enough,” Mulder says. "I had more of a hand in the process.“

"You can have a hand in it,” Scully tells him. "I wish you would.“

"You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, and crosses the room in a few quick steps to kneel in front of the couch. He kisses her knee, his lips mumbling up the inside of her thigh as she moves closer, until he’s kissing her knuckles. She’s still finger-fucking herself, still stroking her clit, and he lets his tongue keep pace with her thumb. The lace is rough against his lips but he likes it. It’s soaked through with the taste of her. He rubs his hands up and down her legs as he licks at her clit. Her thighs tremble under his palms. 

“A hand, I said,” she tells him, in a tone that would be chiding if she didn’t sound so breathless. He crooks his fingers under the gusset of the underwear - it’s got a surprising amount of give - and pushes into her, first one finger and then two as she makes an impatient sound, their fingers pressed together inside her. 

“Oh,” she says. "Yeah.“ When he looks up, her eyes are half-closed. It’s too crowded with his hand and hers, so he raises his head and takes her nipple into his mouth instead, teasing it with his tongue. She spreads her legs wider, taking their fingers in deeper. Her thumb is still moving in circles over her clit. 

"Too much?” he asks.

“I could never have too much of you,” she swears. "God, we waited so long.“ She bends her head to kiss him. He opens his mouth under hers and it’s like an epiphany, every damn time, like she’s a case he keeps cracking in a moment of inspiration. She presses forward, so close now that his wrist is rubbing his erection as he fucks her, as he helps her fuck herself, and she nips at his lip as she kisses him and finally he pulls his fingers out, stands up with a little more effort than he thinks it ought to take, and lifts her. That’s almost no effort: they know each other’s weight, and it’s never been a burden. He sits on the couch and she’s on his lap again, grinding against him, and he’s got his hand down her underwear again, stroking her, reveling in the slick heat of her cunt. She wants him and it drives him crazy. She presses against him and his boxers are going to be soaked too. 

He nips down her neck to kiss her breasts again. He’s got one hand in her and one hand cupping her breast and the other breast in his mouth and her legs wrapped around his hips and if he’s ever felt at home anywhere, it’s in her arms. If he’s ever felt right, it’s when he makes her come and they share that giddy moment: her gasping mouth, the flush that blooms on her chest, the way her body shivers and shakes against his until she finally relaxes all at once the way she almost never allows outside of bed. He wants that now. He coaxes it out of her, doing everything he knows will drive her crazy. He wants to turn her body into a constellation of pleasure, every bright point contributing to the whole. He wants her to feel how each individual atom in her body vibrates, how she sings herself into the universe as she cries out in his arms. He thrusts up against her helplessly as she shivers. He has three fingers inside her. He scrapes his teeth gently against her nipple. She comes undone. 

He can’t help his hips rising against hers as she shudders and moans. Her inner muscles clench around his fingers, as if she wants to take him deeper still. She holds his head to her chest, her chin digging into his crown. He doesn’t mind; his face is pillowed between her breasts, and maybe he is into erotic asphyxiation. He slips his fingers out of her and wipes them on the leg of his boxers as she recovers herself. She climbs off his lap and stands on what look like shaky legs.

"Well,” she says. "Take them off me.“

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. He turns so he isn’t braced against the armrest anymore and pulls her closer, his arm wrapped around her hips. He hooks his thumbs into the waist of the panties and then changes his mind and turns her around.

"There’s no point in a lace-up detail if I don’t get to admire it,” he tells her, tracing the criss-cross of satin ribbon across her ass. 

“Hmm,” she says, looking over her shoulder at him. "I’m glad it’s still worth admiring.“

"We’ve already grown old together once,” he reminds her. "This is much, much better than that creaky ship." He slips his fingers under the ribbons. "You’re a brilliant scientist, Scully. Don’t pretend you don’t know your ass is 99th percentile.”

She laughs and he reaches around to her front, cupping both hands over her mound as he slides his hands into the panties and pushes them down over her hips. She sighs dreamily as his palms press down her thighs. The lace binds his wrists gently to her legs for a moment and then the panties are falling on their own. He draws his freed hands up the backs of her legs. He lets one wander to the small of her back to push her gently forward, until she’s bent over in front of him, braced on the coffee table. The other hands pulls her back. It’s a low couch, fortunately; he doesn’t have to hunch over too far to taste her. His tongue flicks over her clit and she moans. He takes his time, savoring the salty tang of her. She shivers continuously, on the edge of another orgasm, and when he’s had his fill of the slippery feel of her against his tongue and lips, he devotes himself to her clit, sucking at it until she comes. It doesn’t take long, which is good. She’s mostly upside down now, her head between her trembling arms, up on her toes to give him easy access to all the parts of her she wants him to claim. Her shouts reverberate off the coffee table. It’s an interesting effect he hadn’t considered before. Now he wants to make her come everywhere, just to see how the sound of her pleasure changes. 

He steadies her as she shakes, helping her stand up and then easing her down to the couch as he climbs off himself. He shucks off his boxer briefs and the shirt and stretches her out on the cushions. She’s still wearing the camisole. Under the lace roses, her skin is flushed and her nipples stand up dark pink. She smiles at him and spreads her legs. 

“Get over here, Mulder,” she says.

“Fuck,” he says with feeling, and he’s on top of her, her fist and his around his dick as they guide him in. He groans as he enters her. What kind of miracle is it that he can do this for her? To her? That she’s hot and wet and asking for him? He presses her into the cushions in his urgency, but she just grins and wraps one leg around him. 

“Harder,” she says, and he bucks into her, her desire fueling his until it’s a conflagration, all need and heat. She gasps as he thrusts into her, biting her lip, and the fire between them is in her eyes, flickering with a fierce joy. Her hips rise to meet his and he stretches out over her, holding her hands over her head so that her back arches and her nipples rub against his chest. He’s melting inside her, deep inside her, and she pulls herself tight around him. Her heel digs into his thigh. He’s made her come twice and she still wants him. He couldn’t have imagined it could be like this, that they’d still be fucking each other senseless at their age, after all they’ve been through. 

Lingerie is amazing.

He can tell she’s close again. Her body quakes under his, little tremors presaging the big shake to come. He slides out of her and down her body and pulls her clit into his mouth again. She’s swollen and slick and he sucks hard and makes one, two, three circles with his tongue and she’s coming, her body rolling, her hands scrabbling in his hair. He lunges up again, fumbling his way back into her, feeling the rhythmic ripple of her cunt around his dick. She pulls him down against her until he would think that he’s crushing her into the couch, but she just kisses him, hot and hungry, her tongue urgent against his. And he’s thrusting, he’s thrusting, and she’s pressing up and up against him and each time their bodies meet his muscles wind a little tighter until his whole body is shaking and fuck, everything releases all at once and he comes inside her, shouting out her name as he loses himself. He feels like he almost blacks out. Scully is the light and she takes him away.

He comes to on top of her. She’s stroking his back and kissing his shoulder. He pushes himself up with arms that shiver. 

“You know ‘le coup de foudre’ means a lightning strike,” he says, dazed. 

“How apt,” she says, letting him help her up. She slouches sideways onto the couch cushions and closes her eyes. "I could sleep for a week. Too bad it’s seven in the evening.“

"I’ve always managed to wear you out,” he says. "Even before we were sleeping together.“

She smiles. "I like this better.”

“Me too,” he says. 

“We should…clean up,” she says. "Make dinner. Or order something. I don’t care.“

"Mmhmm,” he agrees.

There’s silence for a moment.

“Are we doing that?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says reluctantly. 

“Maybe I’ll leave this on under my clothes,” she says. "Just in case.“

"That is…a very good idea,” he says. His body wants very much to react to it, but he’s not that young anymore. He will recover, though. He’s looking forward to that.

“This might be the best early or late birthday present you’ve ever given me,” she says. "Not that the list is long.“

"I knew it was worth the investment,” he says, and she takes his hand


End file.
